tell me where
the mouth was supposed to meet with the words.
tell me where the physical connection
is meant to find the mental.
I mean, / Oh, right. It isn't
I mean, I’m still asking.
I spent the first half of the summer simmering in wait,
jittery in the movie theater,
fantasizing in the library.
the world a rollercoaster of risk, hands and stomachs, eager
to hurtle down the severed tracks.
There is no spontaneity in continuous free fall but I am still
expectant. The broken tracks and
my ghost in the lake.
a kiss would be
a welcome surprise but
you keep talking.
as prescribed by the stars.
the heart: torn by the wind,
the mind / separating
until it's over.
and instead of losing yourself / or settling in someone else's arms you find yourself
sick with memory
and home alone
anna arden is a 25-year old nonbinary bisexual poet-disaster with a creative writing degree who cries about the planets, warm weather, loneliness, and how much they love their dog. their mini-chap, acts of performative newness, is out with emerge journal in 2022. you can find them yelling about all this and more on their twitter @ardentlywritten.